


A Father's Sons

by Roflskate



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Dead parents are the worst, Dysfunctional Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 13:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8625796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roflskate/pseuds/Roflskate
Summary: Lord Steffon Baratheon through the eyes of his three sons.





	

Robert Baratheon was ten and five when the Gods saw it fit to end his father’s life, nearly a man grown. As the years wore on, most memories of his father faded, until he could scarcely recall his face. Yet there was one memory that did not fade; that he continued to keep close to him.

It began with a loss.

The not yet quite so Mad King Aerys had requested a tournament be held at Storm’s End for some reason or another (though in Robert’s opinion, one needed no excuse for a tourney). Though he was just shy of thirteen, Robert had begged his father to allow him to ride in the lists. After all, everyone said he was the finest warrior of the age (or maybe it was his age, but that didn’t really matter). Shockingly, his father had refused, saying something about how he would have plenty of time for that sort of thing when he was older.

Robert took it to mean that it would be unfair to everyone else if he should fight in the lists now. How shameful would it be for them all to lose to a man of only ten and two?

…Perhaps, almost as shamed as he imagined his father must have felt as Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, a boy only five years older than Robert, unhorsed him.

It was unbelievable. His father was equal parts Baratheon and Targaryen; a dragonstag. He couldn’t just lose to someone as… pretty (as though he were some sort of woman) as Rhaegar Targaryen. There was only one explanation Robert could think of as to why his father had lost to the likes of him, and that night at the feast, he planned on demanding the answer. His younger brother had told him not to ask such a question; that it was not something that he should do. Each time Robert tried to speak to his father, Stannis would kick at him underneath the table, causing a great deal of annoyance to him.

So, he waited until his brother was send to his bedchambers. It would be his turn soon shortly, but it gave him more than enough time to ask…

“You lost to Prince Rhaegar today because you had to, right? Because he’s King Aerys’ son?”

Lord Steffon raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”

“Because, you’re a great warrior and Rhaegar is—” He stopped himself. Girly or not, Prince Rhaegar was still the heir to the throne, and maybe it was treason to call him girly and say his father lost to him on purpose at the same time.

“Rhaegar is Rhaegar.”

His father smiled. “Yes, he is. He has a great deal of skill in the lists, and I am of a mind to tell my royal cousin just as much.”

Robert’s eyes widened. “Then—”

“Then he did defeat me fairly.”

“But… you’re a Baratheon!” He refused to believe it. “We’re supposed to dominate the lists!”

His father laughed in that loud way of his; a fashion that Robert always strived to imitate. “Let the others dominate the lists. It’s the mêlée where we Baratheons truly rule.”

Robert nodded. “The mêlée’s funner to watch too than the stupid lists. Who really cares about broken sticks?”

His father laughed again. “And if I lose the mêlée on the morrow, will you proclaim that ‘stupid’ as well?”

“No.” It was a bold-faced lie, and he was almost certain that his father knew it, because not long after, he was also sent to join his younger brother.

As it turned out, Robert had no reason to call the mêlée “stupid”. The next day, no man stood a chance against Lord Steffon and his longsword. Robert had never cheered so hard in his life as when his father was declared victor.

Lord Steffon Baratheon was a warrior. And when Robert stood over Rhaegar Targaryen, warhammer at the ready as victor in the greatest mêlée of them all, he knew that he was his father’s son.

**

Stannis Baratheon was ten and three when the sea claimed his Lord Father, no longer a boy, yet still not a man grown. Unlike his elder brother, Stannis still had many memories of their father, though most of them somehow managed to include Robert. But, there was still one he cherished above all others; one that belonged to him alone.

It was at the time when as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord Steffon would hear grievances and attempt to resolve them. Both of his sons were obligated to attend the hearings, but Robert…

“Your eldest son was called off on a hunt with Ser Harbert before the break of dawn.” The man-at-arms said when his father asked why his son had yet to show up.

His father said nothing, moving his teeth back and forth. “And I was not informed of this because?”

“Because—”

“Because Ser Harbert likely thought that Robert would like a hunt when I required him. Perhaps I should remind him that it is I and not him who is Lord of Storm’s End.” It was rare to see his father in such a mood, though a part of Stannis took a strange sort of satisfaction in seeing his father mad for something that Robert was a part of.

But of course, there was nothing to be done about it. So, Stannis had been left to hear the grievances alone. Not that he particularly minded, of course. Robert would just make a farce of the whole thing, and his father would probably say nothing because he was the heir. This way, at least, he had some time to avoid his brother and learn something useful about the lands that he was going to help govern (because, who honestly expected Robert to do anythinguseful?). Though he could not recall all of the judgements passed that day, one in particular stood out in his mind.

It began with a knight. Stannis recognized him as Ser Duncan Trant, so named for the famous Lord Commander from Flea Bottom. He had fought alongside his father for King Aerys. Stannis had thought that had made him a good man.

But as a man and his wife were brought before Lord Steffon, telling him exactly how the knight had wronged the pair of them, Stannis knew that he had been mistaken.

“Ser Duncan of House Trant. You are brought before me to answer to your accusers. Do you deny your crimes?”

The knight smirked. “I know not of what they speak, my Lord.”

“Then, you mean to tell me that you have no recollection of any such events, nor the wounds that the both of them bear?”

That seemed to shake his confidence. “…It is my word against theirs. Which would you believe?”

“I would believe those that have the most credible source to their grievance. As it so happens, these two are not the first that have spoken to me of your crimes, nor do I believe that it shall be the last.” His father’s eyes were cold. “You have two choices, ser: The Wall, or the knife. Which shall it be?”

Ser Duncan paled. “My Lord—I have served you well—”

“You are a criminal. Choose.”

“—You cannot expect me to abandon everything I know to serve at the Wall.”

Cold fury was locked carefully behind the eyes of the Lord of Storm’s End. “Then, you choose the knife?”

Ser Duncan Trant was still screaming even as the guards led him away. Once they were alone, Lord Steffon turned to his son.

“It was a shame. He had been a fair knight, and had indeed served our House faithfully.”

Stannis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But you just— He just-”

Lord Steffon nodded. “I did and he did. But, there is something that you must always remember, Stannis. A bad act cannot wash out all of the good a man does, but nor can a good act wash out the bad. He was both a criminal and a knight.”

Stannis knew that he would remember those words until he went to his grave.

Lord Steffon Baratheon was a dispenser of justice. And as Stannis brought down a butcher knife on the fingers of a hero and a smuggler, he knew in that moment that he truly was his father’s son.

**

Renly Baratheon was all of four months old when his father set sail and never returned. As he grew older, he would ask his brothers of his father, but ofttimes, they would respond with half-answers or avoidance. Perhaps the memories were too painful. Perhaps they thought that Renly would not understand any of their tales. But, what Renly decided was that Robert and Stannis wanted to keep all the memories for themselves.

So one day, when he was all of five, he asked Maester Cressen instead.

“I want to know about my father,” he said in a tone that somehow sounded more like a demand than a request.

The maester looked somewhat surprised. “Your brothers haven’t spoken of him to you?”

“Yes but–” he paused, realizing just how much he sounded like the baby Stannis always accused him of being, “Yes, but I want to know something about him that my brothers don’t know.” …That was hardly much better, but Stannis wasn’t here.

Cressen gave him a thoughtful look and nodded. “Very well. Do you know the circumstances of your parents’ marriage?”

Renly snorted. “Everyone knows that story.” Lady Cassana had been a great beauty, however, House Estermont was one of the Stormlands’ poorer noble Houses. But that hadn’t mattered to his father, who had taken her to wife, and together they had ruled their lands fairly and justly, leaving behind three sons, more than enough to keep House Baratheon’s reign secure. His brothers both had different ways of telling it, but at its core, their stories were the same.

“Yes, of course.” For some reason, the fact that this was a familiar tale hardly seemed to concern Maester Cressen. “But do you know why he was permitted to marry her?”

“That’s easy. Because he wanted to.”

“Yes. He was permitted to marry any noble girl of his choosing. But, that was not always the way of things. When he was younger, your grandmother and grandmother were strong advocates of arranged marriage.”

Renly frowned. “Why?” Such things were common among the nobility, but according to his brothers, his father had never really pressed the matter, and he’d just thought his grandparents would be the same.

Cressen laughed. “If you paid more attention to your histories, perhaps you would know why.”

Renly crossed his arms. “Stannis always tells me that too.”

“You might do well to listen to him, child.” Despite his words, Renly was greeted by the sweetest of smiles. “But that is hardly point. Now, they were advocates of arranged marriage, and all of their children had died in their cradles, save for your Lord Father. Being the only heir to Storm’s End, they had all sorts of ideas for whom he should marry. Perhaps, he would wed Lord Lannister’s only daughter. Perhaps, a Florent or Hightower of the Reach. Perhaps, they would have even tried their luck with a Dornish Princess. But, as he grew older, your father would have none of that. Like all of you Baratheons, he was strong-willed and forceful. But, he dared not defy the wishes of his Lord Father. So, he devised a cunning plan…”

“What did my father do?”

“One day, he took his lord Father aside for some time. When their conversation was through, your father’s father declared that his son may marry whomever he so chooses.”

…That didn’t quite make any sense. “How?!”Renly’s imagination was running wild. It must have been some feat to convince your own father to change his mind, especially if he was so set on one thing. He couldn’t imagine his older brothers changing their minds about anything.

Cressen smiled. “Lord Steffon always had a way with words.“

“What did he say to him, then?”

Again, there was that smile. “No one knows”.

Renly thought that wasn’t a very satisfying end to the story (or could you even really call it a story). But all the same, there was one thing that still made it all worth it. “…Robert and Stannis didn’t know this about Father?”

Cressen shook his head.

“Why?”

“Lord Steffon likely never had a reason to tell them.”

Renly beamed. Even if Robert was a great warrior and Stannis was… Stannis, it still was something to know something about their father that he didn’t. Lord Steffon Baratheon had a way with words. And when Renly’s former squire smiled at him as he placed a crown on his head, and the crowd at Highgarden cheered for him, he was sure that he was his father’s son.

**

Lord Steffon Baratheon was nearly nine and thirty when he met his doom. And just like any father, he both loved and feared for his three sons.

Robert was a good boy; he knew that well. He was stronger than most lads of his age, had a way of making easy conversation, and was already an incredibly skilled warrior and hunter. But what his firstborn had in strength, he lacked in sense. He had spent many long hours attempting to teach his son the ways of governing a castle, but it seemed that those lectures fell on deaf ears. Robert only ever heard praise, and would ignore anything else said of him. If his heir continued to heed the counsel of no other man and did what he wished to do, Storm’s End might just find itself with a debt to rival that of the late Tytos Lannister.

Stannis was a different matter. He had the responsibility that his brother so sorely lacked, and according to Maester Cressen, paid far more attention to his studies than his eldest son. But unlike his brother, Stannis seldom seemed to laugh, and lacked any sort of easy courtesy, ofttimes bluntly stating exactly what was on his mind. Also unlike his brother, he was harsh on himself, seemingly never hearing any good word said about him. If he continued about in such a manner, a day might come when he no longer took any joy in life.

His good-father had once japed that Robert and Stannis were like one man split into two, and there were times that he had a mind to believe it.

If the two of them would only combine their efforts, their prowess would be unrivalled. But, like two stags fighting for a mate, neither of them seemed to be able to stand the other’s presence for more than a few minutes. It was not unexpected, but it had caused him many nights of frustration that neither of his sons seemed to understand, or notice.

Finally, his thoughts turned to little Renly, who was but a babe, born when all had thought his lady wife to be past a childbearing age. Lord Steffon knew that he was not as young as he once was, and there was a chance that he might not live to see his youngest son grow into a man. If Robert and Stannis remained at odds, Renly was liable to resent the both of them, thinking himself better than the other two, and then he would have three restless stags on his hands.

He would only imagine how Westeros would tremble.

Lord Steffon Baratheon was many things. And as he bid his boys farewell and took the arm of his lady wife, he hoped that one day, his sons would understand that.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written years ago for GOT_exchange over on Livejournal. A lot of people had different headcanons for exactly what Robert, Stannis, and Renly's parents were like, and this was my take on him.


End file.
